


Maker Protect Me

by SwiggitySwioItsDio



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Crush, Watching your friends die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 22:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18433079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiggitySwioItsDio/pseuds/SwiggitySwioItsDio
Summary: The Herald of Andraste was the type who wanted to be strong for everyone, not just himself. He carried rveryone’s hopes and dreams for the future. The fate of the world was on his shoulders. When he returns from a rather stressful mission with the alliance of the mages, this fact is only further cemented. He sees what happens if he fails.He can not afford to fail.And this fact makes him cry.





	Maker Protect Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick warm up drabble I did after Dorian’s recruitment mission because F U C K THATS SOME HEAVY SHIT DAWG

“Come join us in the war room when you’re ready.”

 

Their bodies fall like sacks of flour tossed carelessly onto the floor. Their blood is stained against their armor. Their flesh is stuck inside it’s nails. Their warmth leaves as they come further into the room. The loyal soldier stays and fights. I should stay and fight.

 

“Of course. I will join you in a moment. Please excuse me.” The Herald gives them a nod, and walks off.

 

Blood everywhere, on their armor, on it’s claws, her guts strewn against the walls and floor, his body littered with stabs, his head, far from his body, his ribcage open as if they knew, but they couldn’t have known.

 

He suffered the most.

 

His thoughts were loud. They are too loud. He cannot hear himself think yet it’s all he could hear. He needed to clear his head. He vaguely remembers a spot near the side of Chantry away from curious eyes. It was isolated from everyone else, that was what mattered.

 

He had slipped away from his advisors, and managed to keep away from everyone else. Even the sisters outside who tell stories of The Iron Bull fail to notice him.

 

Beautiful, sorrowful, painful. Leliana’s final Stand. She speaks, no, prays as she lets loose each arrow. Without her they’d all be dead.

 

The doors had closed, Bull had closed them. Perhaps he knew. He must have known, otherwise he’d leave them open. Wise, merciful Bull.

 

How kind of him to spare me from watching my best friend and the man I love die.

Without him they’d be dead.

 

The ever honorable Warden must have suffered. His corpse torn open and gored senselessly. He fought honorably. Even without seeing him he knew he fought honorably. Without them they’d be dead.

 

He walks further down the little alley and settles behind a pillar. The Herald’s knees are pulled into his chest.

 

Burning blood burning hatred burning desire burning bodies burning rage burning corpses burning hate burning feelings burning up I am burning I am burning and I cannot be put out.

 

He cowers into his own knees. Sobs wracking his small frame. He was just a boy. This was all too much for him. He didn’t want to watch his friends die. He didn’t want to see Blackwall’s bloodied corpse, or watch Bull get tossed around like a bag of potatoes. He didn’t want to watch Leliana’s guts get tossed against the walls. He wanted to scream, but this was not the place for it. Tears would be enough. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually cried, yet he had wanted to since the moment he had learned about what had happened at the Enclave.

 

Burnt corpses surround him, their stench still clinging to his nose, his hair, his flesh. He was certain he smelled of death and whatever pitiful outburst this was now.

 

Maker’s breath this was too much. He was only 19. Why, of all people, did Andraste choose him. He’d be better off like the rest at the Enclave, a burning corpse frozen in agony. No one would have missed him. Hell, the friends he had met here certainly wouldn’t have cared. They wouldn’t have known him then.

 

Pathetic.

 

 

He felt absolutely pathetic.

 

 

Disgusting whimpers and soft keens for help had escaped his throat, searing his lips. How everyone would scoff at their Herald now. What would they say?

 

The Herald of Andraste, nothing but a sniveling little brat who sobs at the slightest hint of tension.

 

 

This wasn’t helping.

 

He usually went to Bull whenever he felt just a bit too helpless. Bull always said the right things to take him out of his head, but he was across Haven. The whole walk there would have been a shameful one. He could probably head inside the Chantry and speak to Mother Giselle, but something about that only left him feeling a little more pitiful.

 

 

A pathetic child slinking towards the closest person deemed motherly.

 

Maker’s breath he hated himself. He’d have to stick this one alone.

 

 

He had lost track of how long he just sat there sobbing.

 

 

 

 

He had moved a bit, now not entirely hidden by the pillar.

 

 

 

 

 

Usually he’d be able to calm himself quick, but the tears just kept coming and coming.

 

 

 

And coming.

 

 

 

And coming.

 

 

 

 

He could hear people shouting his name now. How long had he been here?

 

 

 

One voice stands out in particular simply because it’s closer than the rest.

 

“Herald?”

 

No.

 

No. No. No. NO.

 

Not you.

 

 

Not like this.

 

“Lavellan!”

That voice is now accompanied with heavy footsteps.

 

The older man is at his side in an instant. He can hear the man get down on one knee, and suddenly his warm hands on his shoulders. He lifts his wet, puffy eyes up to look at Warden Blackwall. Based on his reaction, The Herald was certain he looked like shit.

 

“Maker’s balls... What happened? Is this where you’ve been the whole time?”

 

He opens his mouth to speak, but all he can muster is a strained, raspy whimper.

 

The Warden is on him in an instant, warm arms holding him close, strong hands on his back, the tickle of his beard against his ear.

 

The Herald grew tense. This was something he always wanted, yet in this instance he....

 

He didn’t want Blackwall to see him like this. No one should have.

 

And yet....

 

He weakened, melted, the barriers of his knees lowering and his arms wrapping around Blackwall’s back. He sobs openly now as he presses his face hard into Blackwall’s shoulder. The older man hushes him, one of those strong hands tangling into his hair, holding him close. It’s warm, he’s so warm. He smells like rain and pine.

 

It’s so nice.

 

Blackwall pulls away, causing the Herald to whine in protest, but his cries are silenced quickly as Blackwall positions himself to sit next to the Herald, blocking him from view at the mouth of the alley. In an instant, the herald was welcomed back into Blackwall’s arms.

 

They stay like that for awhile, Blackwall hushing him and comforting him until his sobs died down.

 

“Tell me what happened.”

 

The Herald is quiet, unsure, but finally speaks.

 

“I....I can’t do this Blackwall. I can’t handle this. I watched you, Bull, and Leliana die, right before my very eyes. I’m not... I saw what would happen if we failed, if we couldn’t close the breach. I saw you and Bull corrupted by Red Lyrium, I saw it grow from Fiona’s body. I should have been there, I shouldn’t have left you all there like that. I shouldn’t have gotten caught in whatever that time magic was. I can’t afford to be weak, but I can’t help but to feel like I am at the same time. Fuck, I mean I’m just a fucking kid. I’m a walking contradiction. I can’t be The Herald of Andraste like this...”

 

The silence that followed after wasn’t helping, but he doesn’t think he said anything to scare Blackwall away. Those strong, warm hands still pet his hair as if he were handling a small, delicate animal.

 

“You’ve already got the respect and loyalty of every single person in Haven. Regardless however you feel ‘The Herald of Andraste’ should be doesn’t matter, because The Herald is you. No matter what you do, no matter what you say, this doesn’t change. You’re still the hero these people deserve because you’ve done so much. You’ve inspired all these people. You’re so brave for taking on all of this. I’d say you’ve earned a moment of weakness. There’s no shame in it. No one would consider you less a hero for it. I’ll make sure of it. Kid or not, you’re so brave.”

 

This was oddly comforting. This worked. This was working. He felt somewhat better already. Better enough that he stopped crying. His heart pounded in his chest as he pulls away a bit from Blackwall. The older man just smiled down at him. It was a kind gesture, a friendly one.

 

Blackwall looked snow kissed. His face was an almost adorable shade of pink, as if the snow had taken him by the cheeks, touched her nose to his and kissed him. He had always looked like this, perhaps his was just the first time The Herald acknowledged it.

 

The inquisitor felt disgusting for even thinking this, thinking about these kinds of things of a man who was his friend. This was a man who could only have been his friend.

 

What color would his sweet Warden’s face would turn if he himself had touched him the same way the snow did. What if he warmed him with a kiss.

 

Damn you Warden Blackwall.

 

 

Maker protect me.

 

 

Before he could even comprehend what was happening, he had luches forwards, pressing his lips desperately to Blackwall’s.

 

The Warden did not kiss him back. If anything, that warmth around him seemed to disappear.

 

Shock hits him like a ton of bricks. He pulls way quickly. Aggressively wiping his tears away. He glances at Blackwall’s face.

 

He’s equally shocked.

 

“F-Forgive me.”

He feels disgusting, taking advantage of Blackwall’s kindness like that. He scrambles to his feet once he deemed his face clean enough. The only evidence of his tears now was the puffiness of his face. He turns away from the Warden. He can hear him stand as well.

“Warden Blackwall, I request that you keep quiet about what happened here. It was a mistake I shall not repeat.”

“Lavellan I—“

 

He couldn’t stay. He just walked away with a large pit in his stomach. Blackwall probably wouldn’t be there in the morning. He doesn’t blame him.

 

It doesn’t take long for Cullen and Cassandra to spot him, both upon him like worried, angry parents.

 

They had been expecting him after all.

 

He’s lead to the War room. He had a breach to close.

 

 

 

Now was not the time for childish things like crushes.

 

 

 

 

 

The next Morning, The Herald left his quarters to see a note tacked onto his door. It was a request from Blackwall to change quarters, one signed and approved by Josephine. Blackwall’s things were set in front of the small house just across the way from his.

 

 

Hope sparked in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m not dead, surprisingly.  
> I know I’ve been working on the McCree/Reader series but I don’t think I’m gonna continue it. I kinda lost interest in Overwatch.   
> That being said I’ve got 2 big projects in the works for Dragon Age Inquisition. My friends dragged me on the Cullen thirst train so that’s something to look forwards to. Besides that I’ve got another huge Blackwall slowburn fic on the way. The first few chapters are finished, but they’re still in the Beta stages


End file.
